Blood and Tears, O Brother, My Captain
by luluhrh
Summary: Poem fanfiction. "O Captain, My Captain" by Walt Whitman. Ed has saved everyone by making the ultimate sacrifice. The whole country mourns him, especially those who knew him... but who lies on the funeral pyre? Short fic that made me cry but I HAD to write it! Rated T because of my author's notes... *sigh* Brotherhood, EdWin. Might be adding extra mini-chappies in! Love ya! lulu
1. My Brother

**Hi guys.**

**...**

**Just... don't cry, okay?**

**Disclaimer:**** I can only dream of owning Fullmetal Alchemist, nor do I own anything written by Walt Whitman.**

**Read it. Don't come crying to me if you burst into tears.**

_O Captain, my Captain..._

His golden hair, splayed in rays- so like the sun!- around his face. He is the color of the sun, bright, alive.

_...our fearful trip is done..._

Scars adorn his right shoulder, scars and metal. However, he has his arm. Finally, he has his arm.

_But O heart! heart! heart!_

His skin is pale. Ashen skin. Dead skin. It doesn't fit him at all. It's... unnatural. It's not right.

_O the bleeding drops of red..._

A trail of blood crawls out of his mouth, another one tracing its way down his cheek, like a tear.

_Where on the deck my Captain lies..._

Golden eyes, glowing eyes, reflecting the light, open, staring at nothing. There is no fire in them now.

_Fallen cold and dead._

Ed. Brother. Captain. So very cold. So very dead.

And then come the tears. Tears because Ed was only sixteen. Only sixteen when he faced Father. Only sixteen when he gave everything he could possibly give to regain his brother. Always prepared to give everything so his brother could have a body once again. And he did, just now. Al has his body. He knows where his brother's body is. But Ed has the opposite of the problem Al used to have. Instead of having a soul with no true body, his brother's body has no soul in it anymore. Not a soul in a tin can carrying case, a leather bag that lost its soul. The golden eyes are glassy; the fire has gone out. So there are tears. From Mustang and Hawkeye and Havoc and Breda and Falman and Fuery. From Ling and Lan Fan. From Mei. From Al.

Somewhere far away, in a little town called Risembool, a girl called Winry Rockbell feels something move inside her. Something is torn away, violently, without warning, and without knowing why, she begins to cry, crying as though half her heart has been torn out of her chest, leaving her nothing but a bleeding hole and tears. Granny Pinako comforts her, but can feel, just as Winry does, that something is missing. Something is gone. Still, no one can feel it like Winry does. Even Al cannot feel it the way Winry does. Al loves his brother, but Winry's love for Ed is different. And now he's gone.

Blood and tears.

Ed is still very much dead. His body has cooled. His chest doesn't move; no breath stirs. What lies before the crowd is a shell. Blood and tears cannot change this fact.

Ed was a scientist, after all. He dealt in facts. If he could see himself, he would conclude that he was perfectly, unarguably dead.

The silence in Central is punctured only by the wails of mourners that night, mourners who cry for the boy- no, for the man- who gave his life for his country, for his friends, for his family. For his brother.

And Al desperately wants to see his brother one last time, to see his smile, to see the fire in those golden eyes that means his brother lives... but he can't. He knows the risks. He's seen the consequences, the result of the desire to see someone you love one last time. And what would it accomplish? Nothing. Nothing but another dead Elric boy. Nothing but more blood. Nothing but more tears.

So Alphonse Elric stands, trembling in his borrowed clothes that engulf his emaciated figure, and painfully drags himself into the procession, tears still carving tracks in his cheeks.

_O Captain, my Captain..._

_Fallen cold and dead._

.

.

.

Deeper in the city, down an alley, far from the mournful crowd, there sits a young man. He is shirtless, shivering in nothing but leather pants and a thin blanket. He was close to death before something entered him, something that changed him into someone new, from a nearly dead boy to someone who is alive, very much alive. He smiles sadly at the sorrowful cries of the group. His eyes flicker. Something in them glistens.

Behind a wall of tears is a soulful fire, lighting up unfamiliar gray eyes, turning them into melted gold. His hair, once brown, once short, catches the light as it grows, turning to spun gold, matching his eyes. A dead man, turned into the captain they mourn.

Edward Elric is reborn.

But he cannot reveal himself. To do so would cause great repurcussions. He was only allowed this chance so he could protect the world. No one can know.

So Ed turns away from the grief-stricken crew, his own heavy heart making every uneven step painful as his automail clanks against the ground. Incomplete once again. His metal appendages weigh him down, yet he will not turn around. He cannot face his brother's heartbroken face or he will break.

His heart has been ripped to shreds. One for every person he must leave behind. One for himself, the man he was, the man he still is, who he must try to forget.

No one knows, though. No one has noticed that the body they laid on the funeral pyre is now gray-eyed and brown-haired. The fire gives the illusion of glowing golden locks burning away at its center. Thus the nameless boy who was already dead is given an honorable service while the man they truly mourn walks on, alive. The flames encompass an unknown youth, but they tell no one the truth. What do they care, so long as they have fuel?

Alphonse Elric and Winry Rockbell can both feel half their hearts burn away as well. One knows it's happening. The other is unaware. Both feel pain. The whole country feels pain, for the Captain is lost to them now.

Edward Elric still walks away. They cannot know. They will never know.

Truth always screws everyone over.

***tears streaming down face* I really am fucking crying. I wrote a shorter version of this in class. Like, a WAY shorter version. It was just a journal exercise. Then I realized that it would make a beautiful story. We had just looked at the poem, "O Captain, My Captain" by Walt Whitman earlier that day, and it was so _perfect_ for how everyone would have felt if Ed had died after fighting Father and saving Amestris and getting Al's body back... I couldn't help myself. I'm wishing I did, now... But I added the end bit because I COULDN'T FUCKING KILL ED! I COULDN'T DO IT! So I made that really crazy nutty thing that made no sense to me whatsoever.**

**But that last bit is true. Truth really does always screw everyone over.**

**So yeah. Review, Follow, Favorite. RFF. Yay.**

**I'm still fucking crying.**

**The word of the day is... screw it. I can't do this right now.**

**Love ya... lulu.**


	2. My Love

**I didn't expect to update, I swear! It's just... I had this idea... and I couldn't get it out of my head! I had to WRITE!**

**And so I have.**

**Disclaimer:**** Don't even bother asking, because it isn't mine. Just... don't.**

**Now, read as I bestow more feels upon you!**

Winry Rockbell walked the roads of Resembool, blinded by grief. She didn't see anything. Not the ground, not the sky, not the fields. Nothing. It was like the world had ceased to exist.

For her, it had.

*flashback*

_All it took was one glance. One pain-filled glance from Al and the state of her heart, that shattering feeling she'd felt, all made sense._

_Yet she couldn't run. Not yet._

_So she waited. Waited until the painfully thin Al had made it to his seat. Waited until he'd had some stew. Waited until his trembling voice confirmed what she already knew._

_"Brother is dead."_

_She knew it. She'd known it from the moment she'd woken up, from the moment she'd felt that crippling pain in her chest. She'd known it all along. It wasn't a surprise. It wasn't a secret. She'd _known_..._

_It didn't make the tears stop. It didn't make the pain any less real._

_So she ran._

*flashback over*

It was rather stupid of her, she now realized. She hadn't even bothered to grab a coat. It was cold out. Not overly so, but enough for her to feel uncomfortable. Enough for the wind to nip painfully at her exposed skin. Yet not enough for it to numb her. All she wanted was to be numb to everything.

Still the cold bit at her, teasing her, making her feel chilled to the bone, but not giving her the relief she so desperately desired.

The tears were still falling. They hadn't stopped since Al had announced what had happened. She didn't know if they ever would stop. Would she have to go through life like this, her vision eternally blurred by the salty wetness?

Her breath came in sharp gasps. Ed. Ed was gone. Ed was dead.

_No,_ her mind protested. _He can't be dead. He promised he'd come back. He said the next time he made me cry, it would be tears of joy. That ass... moronic idiot... alchemy freak... midget..._

Winry glanced up hopefully, trying to believe that calling Ed a midget in her mind might make him appear, ranting on and on about how he was NOT short, about how she dared call HIM so small that she could see an atom better than she could see him...

Nothing. Just gray clouds and thunder.

He'd hated weather like this. It made his ports ache. Winry knew that.

He'd also scoff at her for crying.

_What are you crying for? _ he'd ask, disgruntled, his voice still innocent and sweet despite the rough way in which he spoke. He'd never liked it when she cried. _Come on, Winry. Don't cry. Why are you crying?_

"I'm crying because you never seem to cry for yourself," Winry gasped out, letting the words bring on fresh waves of tears.

The last time she'd seen him, he'd been taller than she was. She hadn't noticed it at first, but after he'd left, she kept dwelling on that. He'd been taller than her.

_I just don't like men who are shorter than me,_ she'd once said. She hadn't wanted to marry either of the boys because they were shorter than her.

And yet he'd been taller than her. There was no longer an excuse.

"I loved you, you idiot," she murmured. The tears increased. "I LOVED YOU!" These words were screamed into the air, as if maybe, maybe, he could hear them. Hear and understand how much he had hurt her.

"You are in so much trouble, Edward Elric," she said, her voice thick. "When I find you, you are going to be in SO MUCH TROUBLE."

She would never find him. She knew it. She could pretend that she could, but there was no way...

The rain had begun to fall.

_O Captain, my Captain..._

It slapped the ground, hard, sounding so much like... like the sound her automail made.

_Our fearful trip is done..._

He was gone. She would never again fix his automail. Never again here Den bark as he walked down the path to the Rockbell home. Never again see his blush when she leaned too close, or brushed him wrong, or made a comment about how he looked. Never again see him trembling with rage at being called short. Never again see him cowering at the sight of her wrench.

Never again would she see him smile.

_The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won..._

He had done it. He'd saved Amestris from becoming one giant Philosopher's Stone. Everyone celebrated and everyone mourned. For them, it was almost the same thing.

Winry didn't feel that way. For her, she might as well be part of a Philosopher's Stone. She might as well have sunken into the oblivion of death. Anything was better than this.

_Exult O shores, and ring O bells!_

_But I with mournful tread,_

_Walk the deck my Captain lies,_

_Fallen cold and dead._

Yes. She was there. She could see him, see how wrong he looked with ashen skin, bloodless lips, and wide, lightless, lifeless golden eyes...

Winry fell to her knees and screamed into the dreariness. No one heard her. The rain drove everyone away, it seemed. It drove everyone away and swallowed up any sound she made.

But then...

Winry narrowed her eyes, grief driven back for a moment. There was someone else there... just up the road... someone who seemed familiar... someone who couldn't have been much taller than herself... someone whose blonde locks glinted, even in the rain, in the braid they were in...

Winry's eyes widened. She regained her feet and ran, slipping and sliding, towards the man with the golden hair.

_Ed,_ she thought. _It's Ed, it has to be him, it HAS to be-_

Winry skidded to a stop, looking around wildly. This was where he was.

"Ed?" she called into the darkness.

Nothing answered.

"Edward?"

Nothing.

"EDWARD!"

Nothing.

Winry fell into the mud, dirtying herself, wet beyond belief, and succumbed to her sadness.

_Fallen cold and dead._

She fell into unconsciousness, not even stirring when someone lifted her into his arms and proceeded, slowly but surely, with surprisingly few muttered curses, to her house.

The next morning, she awoke in bed. A note was on her bedside table.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, wincing when her cheeks were raw, then remembered. Her throat closed up.

Hands trembling she grabbed the note. Tears came to her eyes as she read it.

_I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Truth screws everyone over. Why are you crying? I'm in a better place now. You should be happy for me, Winry. One day, I'll see you again, okay?_

_Love, Ed_

Winry knew the handwriting wasn't Ed's. It was similar to what she'd seen of Roy Mustang's writing.

That didn't stop her from crying over it for a few minutes before wiping away her tears, folding it neatly, and placing it in the draw of her bedside table. Of course she shouldn't cry. Ed wouldn't want her to cry.

She got up with a fragile smile on her face.

Meanwhile, a few miles down the road, Edward Elric sighed. That was too close. Still, he couldn't just leave her...

Having her so close... it was dangerous. He'd wanted to stay. Damn, he'd been so close to staying. Waiting for the household to wake. Surprising everyone and explaining what had happened. Being welcomed with open arms.

Instead, he'd composed a note, making it look suspiciously like Mustang's penmanship. He'd placed it on her bedside table. He'd placed her on the bed. Then he'd opened the window and jumped out.

Now, looking up at the blessedly clear sky, Ed took a deep breath of the clean air and declared, "I meant what I wrote, you white bastard. You do screw everyone over."

Fallen cold and dead my ass.

**Okay. Wow. Feels. Jeez... I didn't mean to make that so very feelsy. Yeesh.**

**So yeah. Should I continue? Because I may or may not have an idea of how he finally gets to see them again... *wiggles eyebrows* You do want him to see them again, don't you?**

**Okay then, RFF, mah friendlings! Peoples, seriously. I need reviews! I need feedback! I need you to tell me whether or not I should continue! SO TELL ME!**

**Anyway... The word of the day is ESCULENT! Heh. It means edible. Weird, huh?**

**Love ya! lulu**


	3. My Edward

***Cheshire grin* I had to do this. I could leave this so... unresolved.**

**THEY DON'T KNOW HE'S OKAY! THEY NEED TO FIND OUT HE'S OKAY! EITHER THAT OR HE MUST DIE!**

**Ahem. Yeah. I feel emotionally invested in this, for some reason.**

**Disclaimer:**** . . . The word "disclaim" is the key word here. Look it up. If you still don't get it, too bad. I'm not saying it.**

**Now read, and watch as I spin a tale full of heartbreak... and just plain breaks. As in PEOPLE breaking. Physically. *evil grin* SUCH FUN!**

**And now you look at and absorb the words on the page. YAY!**

It was a quiet night outside, a night filled with stars. Soft light, glinting off the moon, reflecting the Sun. And the stars. Always those stars. Boiling, roiling masses of flaming gases, burning bright enough to be seen from thousands of miles away. No one had to mention who that brought to mind.

Five years. Five long, hard, cold, empty years. Five years of sadness, of loss.

This was the one night where they let it go.

Ed's birthday.

No one else celebrated this day. Still, every year, a certain group of people gathered on the Rockbell property and threw a party. A grand, wondrous party that no one in Risembool had the heart- or even the want- to stop. Everything was always perfect: a stew, cooked by Granny Pinako; little Ed party favors, provided by Al; fake, miniature automail parts, courtesy of Winry; and a large (and milkless) cake.

Party activities included retelling old Ed stories, laughing at how short Ed was, and generally forgetting that Ed wasn't around. They laughed and talked away the night, and by the time it was all over, half of them expected Ed himself to waltz fight in, scowling at the amount of noise they were making before breaking into a grin at the sight of them, then joining in the festivities-

and that was when the party would stop. Winry would wipe away tears and bid everyone a good day (for it was always morning when they stopped). Then, when all of them were gone, she curled up on the couch, sobbing like the grief was new. In a way, it was. Almost everyone had been expecting to see Ed come stomping through the doorway that first year. As the years passed, however, it became clear that this was their way of remembering him, not bringing him to life once again.

Only Al and Granny understood. They had known Ed for as long as she had, Al for longer than her, and while they didn't love him the way she did, they did love him.

Still, only she knew that every night, on the day after his birthday, Winry would cry herself to sleep, dreaming of him bidding her goodnight and giving her a sweet kiss before bed. Just a kiss. Just one kiss that she'd never had the chance to get.

It was the fifth year, now. The fifth year after his death. His fifth birthday after death.

The usual crowd came: Roy and Riza Mustang (they'd married somewhere between the second and third celebrations); Jean Havoc and his girlfriend, Linette; Vato and Schieska Falman (the walking dictionaries- hadn't THAT been a surprise); Heymans Breda (forever alone and proud of it); Kain and Nicole Fuery; Izumi and Sig Curtis with their adopted daughter, Edella; the Armstrong family; Maria Ross and Denny Brosh (they were meant for each other); and about all of Risembool. It was always like this. Busy, busy, busy.

_O Captain, my Captain..._

Only this year, something was different. What was it?

Ah! There! A strange man in a brown coat. He wasn't short, but he wasn't very tall. Perhaps slightly above average, if not completely and totally average when it comes to height. His brown hair was unremarkable, though quite long and smooth in a strangely familiar way. Familiar, too, was the gaze he swept over the party, though his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.

Sunglasses? At night? How odd.

The man did not join in the festivities, though he did seem to flinch whenever Havoc mentioned how short Ed was and how he used to rant about it. The stranger's jaw tightened when Roy, slightly drunk by then, mentioned how Fullmetal never did his reports properly, just to spite his commanding officer.

And unless she was mistaken... he gulped when they all mentioned how amazing Ed was. He glared at the floor while they extolled Ed's virtues. The Fullmetal Alchemist. Hero of the People. Savior of Amestris. His jaw tightened at every title.

After a while, the people of Risembool returned to their beds. Only those who truly _knew_ the elder Elric boy remained. His coworkers. His teacher. His friends. His family. This was Ed's family, this small group of people.

Only the man remained, out of all those almost-strangers, hidden in shadows.

Winry wasn't the only one who noticed. Soon the group went quiet, staring at this strange man, this man who was... familiar...

The man was staring at the ground. However, as if sensing their stares, he turned around, coat flapping against his legs.

An odd sound reached Winry's ears just then; the sound of creaking, of joints groaning, of unkempt gears grinding. It was quiet, but Winry wasn't the best automail mechanic in Amestris for nothing. She recognized the sound of automail in need of some repairs.

That settled it. This man, whomever he was, needed help.

And maybe... maybe it would tell her who he was. Maybe she would understand why he was like a magnet, drawing her attention.

She ran after him.

"Hey! Hey, mister!"

He slowed, uncertain, his steps unsure, and Winry could hear the distinctive _clank_ of automail in a boot.

His leg, huh?

"I'm sorry, sir, but could I have a look at your automail? It seems to be in a bad condition, according to the sound of it."

He froze, her voice finally becoming clear.

Winry tilted her head. "Well? Am I allowed to help you?"

Wordlessly, the dark haired man whipped around and set off in the direction from whence he came; back towards the Rockbell home.

Winry sighed in relief. _Wonderful. Now I can see what about this is bothering me..._

The party was still silent when the man returned. No doubt they heard the whole scene and were wondering why she ran after him.

A glitter in Al's eye, though, showed that he had a similar feeling of magnetism toward this stranger. His sharp gaze- so like his brother's in everything but shape and color- followed her as she followed the man.

The man flung himself onto the couch and looked at her expectantly.

Winry nodded. "Here is good, Mister...?"

Then man did not answer. He looked away. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped nervously.

Winry raised an eyebrow. Curious.

Then the man spoke.

His voice was rough, as though he hadn't used it in a long time, but beneath the gruffness and the throaty sounds, there was a certain... quality about his voice that made her shiver. If it had a color, it would be golden. The taste would be honey. And the smell... it would smell like machine oil. Golden and rich and familiar, always familiar.

"Well?" he asked. "Where do you want me to go?"

Winry smiled. " Follow me. My workshop is downstairs."

As he followed her, through the hall and down into her workroom, she couldn't help but notice how he almost seemed to know the surroundings. He even skipped the last three steps, jumping down to the floor with an audible clank, as though he knew that they creaked.

_Odd. Very odd._

She gestured for him to lie on the table. He did so, removing his jacket neatly and revealing a smart-looking button-down shirt in a... familiar shade of red.

Familiar again. Too much familiarity.

Winry watched as he gently rolled up his pant leg... and gasped when she saw the state of his leg.

It was shining like new, but deep grooves were carved into it everywhere. Several wire casings appeared to be loose, as well as multiple screws and the shin plate. The joint, too, appeared to be slightly out of whack. Overall, it gleamed, the perfect example of automail that someone uses far too often but still cares for.

"Why didn't you get his replaced?" she asked quietly.

He looks down, almost... embarrassed.

"It's special to me," he replied.

The roughness in his tone has disappeared, and for a moment he almost sounds like... now. No. It couldn't be... _Don't get your hopes up, Win. This man isn't Ed. Ed is dead and that's that._

Comforted (and saddened) by this firm conclusion, Winry set to work, adjusting plates, replacing wire casings, tightening screws, and recalibrating the joint.

As she worked, Winry started to notice things about the automail. How it was almost flawless when it was working. How it fit the man perfectly. How comfortable it felt in her hands, like this was where is was meant to be.

How similar it was to Ed's automail.

How it was almost _exactly_ like Ed's automail.

Winry could feel her breath faltering in her chest, though her hands never ceased moving.

How it _WAS_ Ed's automail.

_It's Ed... It has to be Ed... He alchemized his hair... He's alive..._

She couldn't stop working. A soon as she finished, however, she reached out and grabbed his right arm.

The man froze.

She squeezed his arm. He winced as the arm gave a little.

Flesh.

It wasn't Ed.

_It's not Ed._

And then the tears came, came as they always did, only earlier this time. Too soon, too soon. But she had been _so sure_ that it HAD to be Ed. And his arm... his arm... it was real. That give couldn't be faked.

Or could it?

Seizing the arm again, she pulled up the sleeve, ignoring the mans protests, _familiar_ protests, as she stared at what she had uncovered.

An automail arm.

And automail arm that felt _exactly_ like flesh.

Still, it was automail. _Winry's _automail. It's obvious now.

With trembling hands, Winry took the glasses from the man's face.

His eyes were closed, squeezed tight together. Yet when she doesn't move from her position, he sighs... and opens them.

Golden orbs. Bright golden orbs.

A clap and a flash of light later, his automail had hardened once more. Another clap and his hair returned to its natural golden color, like silk, like sunlight in the candlelit shop.

The tears still hadn't stopped, and he wipes them away with his hand, _his hand_, oh his hand-

And Winry was in his arms, crying and cursing and begging God to let this be true, let it really be her Ed, begging Ed to be real-

And he answered, "I'm here, Winry. I'm here. And I'm not leaving you again."

A smile lit up a shining, wet face. "Really?"

Edward Elric nodded. "Really."

They shared a soft smile.

And then Winry attacked.

"You IDIOT!" she cried, throwing her wrench at him. "How COULD you?! Five years, Edward Elric! Five FUCKING YEARS in which we thought you were DEAD and you didn't even have the decency to tell your loving family and friends that you were ALIVE!"

"Winry, I can explain!" Ed shouted nervously.

"NO! You are NOT explaining until I let EVERYONE UP THERE _MURDER_ YOU FOR NOT TELLING US THAT YOU WERE ALIVE!"

"I would have if I was allowed!"

"A LIKELY STORY!"

The noise had attracted the last partygoers. They peered into the shop, wondering what Winry could possibly be doing that was making such a racket.

They did NOT expect to see her trying to murder a familiar blonde man with a wrench.

"Ed?" Al asked incredulously.

Winry and Ed froze. Ed turned to look up at his friends and gulped. "Uh, hey guys."

Time had stopped. They knew that voice. They knew that hair. They knew that stature.

They knew those eyes.

Al was the first to recover. He ran straight at his brother...

... and punched him in the gut.

He waited as Ed wheezed, then crushed him into a hug, shouting, "BROTHER! YOU'RE ALIVE!"

Ed smiled, despite looking distinctly squished. "Yeah, Al. I am alive. And boy, do I have a story for you."

Ed was attacked by the rest of the group then, all of them shouting different things until all that could be heard was the chanting of his name. The rest of the words were lost in the babble.

Winry let them have him, smiling and shaking her head. She knew that once everyone had left, he'd be here. Home at last. Home with her and Granny and Al.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd get something from him she'd always wanted...

A goodnight kiss.

**YES! SUCH SWEETNESS! SUCH FLUFF! SUCH BEATING UP ED!**

**Ed: Hey!**

**Me: What? You deserved it.**

**Ed: It's your fault for making me make that deal with the Truth about working to help people and not letting them know I was alive! You're the writer, after all!**

**Me: *smug* I am, aren't I? In that case... BEGONE, MIDGET!**

**Ed: *enraged* Who are you calling- *poofs into nothingness***

**Me: Good! Now I can finish this up.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this special little three-shot! I know I did. Sadness and angst and tears GALORE!**

**Yep. That's how I roll!**

**So yeah. RFF, people! I love reviews! They make me feel special. Make me feel special and I give you COOKIES! (if I have any to spare) (::) (::) OH MY TRUTH COOKIES!**

**Anyway... the word of the day is SEMPITURNAL! That means "of never-ending duration." Basically it's just something that never dies. EVER! IT'S ETERNAL! Like Truth. Or Wonder Bread. That stuff is full of preservatives... blech.**

**Oh my Truth, I gave you the definition... I must be going soft.**

**Oh well.**

**Love ya! lulu**


	4. EXTRA!: My Letters

**YAY! EXTRA CHAPPIE! I know, I know, it took a while, but it's here! EXTRAS! Who doesn't love extras?**

**Disclaimer: **** . . . And my great mood is ruined. No, it's not mine, otherwise I'd be living the good life in Bermuda or something like that. I'm not living in Bermuda. Therefore, no, I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist. If you still don't understand, learn to read.**

**Seriously. This was pretty clear.**

**Now, READ!**

The man had come in with a long-healed injury. His right arm had been lost in the Eastern Rebellion. His whole arm was gone from the shoulder down.

"I want the best automail you've got, Ms. Rockbell!" he stated firmly, excitement clear in his eyes. "I'm going to join the military, and I need both of my arms to make it happen."

Winry smiled softly at her newest customer. "I'll do my best, Mr. Bander."

Ralph Bander blushed at the beautiful smile Winry Rockbell bestowed upon him. She was gorgeous, really. Long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, lean body, and that perfect smile.

And even then, she was always a little sad. Her eyes glowed with some deep, inner pain that many longed to cure her of. If a man captured her heart, he would find out the cause of her sadness, and protect her from it. Ralph Bander saw this pain.

To him, she was truly the epitome of perfection.

She was this to many men. Many customers of hers became her beaus. Ralph Bander was the most recent to be drawn in by that sad, sweet smile.

When she got to her workroom after the surgery, Winry sighed. _The best I've got, huh?_ she thought, glancing at her worktable. Several parts were strewn around, wires and ball bearings and screws, so very many screws...

And that right arm and left leg, lying there in the middle of the chaos. Glowing, shimmering in the dim light. Every aspect was perfect, the best she could do, at least for now. Sooner or later she'd be able to improve it, but as of that moment, those pieces were the best she had.

Out of all her customers, she knew Ralph would fit the arm best. He wasn't all that tall, and his arms were roughly the same length...

But she couldn't. She knew that all too well. That arm and leg were being kept for someone else, someone who she had always given the best of the best to. No one else could get that arm and leg. Those pieces belonged together on a very important person. They were... reserved.

For Ed.

Winry sighed. Ed. He'd been gone for two years, but she still kept updating those pieces for him. No one knew she was doing it, not even Granny. Oh, they'd understand, for sure. Especially Al and Granny. But they'd try to convince her to move on. Find a nice boy and settle down.

Leave the past in the past.

Winry went over to her desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Flipping through them, she felt the spots that were more wrinkled than others, where tears had dried, leaving the sheets discolored and mildewed.

Finally, she found the one she was looking for and began to read.

_Hi Ed,_

_It's the day after what you called the Promised Day. Everything's fine here. We're working hard to keep up with the sudden crowd of customers. It's crazy! I've become the go-to person for automail. I'm not really sure why. But just you wait: when you get back, you'll have the best automail you could possibly dream of!_

_On a more serious note, I still don't know what made me break down like that after we came to. It was like a part of me was ripped away from my whole, or died, or something. Something just... disappeared. I can't help but associate it with you. I hope you realize I won't rest until I see you again, safe and sound. And if you're not safe and/or sound, you can get acquainted with my wrench. Again. Al better be okay, too, or I'll hit you more._

_Did Al get his body back? Did you? I know how badly you want your body back, but I can't help but hope you didn't get it. Wouldn't want my beautiful masterpieces to go to waste!_

Here she had faltered, and her hand had shook as she penned the last words.

_I love you. Come home soon._

_Love, Winry_

New tears dotted an old letter. Ed. Back then, she'd really believed that he would come home. That he'd come waltzing in, his automail in shambles, slightly taller than her (it took him long enough), ready to receive her beating/doting with the usual complaints and hidden smiles that he must have thought she didn't notice. Ready to be at home again. Ready to receive her love, and maybe... just maybe... return it.

Of course, he'd never come home. Just Al, back in his own body but missing his brother, practically his other half. Just Al, emaciated but breathing, smelling, tasting, feeling... truly alive again, alive as he hadn't been for years, alive as he couldn't possibly be in the armor.

But at what cost? Ed's sacrifice? Was that the cost?

It wasn't Al's fault, and Winry didn't blame him.

It was Ed's fault, always making sacrifices, always giving too much, too fast, too soon. Always diving in headfirst, never thinking about the consequences his actions had on the rest of the people who were left alive.

"Idiot," Winry breathed out heavily, still allowing her tears to stain the paper she held.

She'd contemplated suicide many times, but she couldn't go through with it. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was compassion. Whatever it was, it stopped her every time. Stopped her from taking the pills. Stopped her from pulling the trigger. Stopped her from bringing down the knife. All stopped, all halted, all ceased. Frozen, then slowly dissolving, melting into a past already filled with loss, mistakes, anger, and self-hatred. Disappearing into that soupy mess, just another wrong move that she reconsidered just in time.

She knew how all of those men looked at her. Like she was some prize. _Win Winry's heart and you get a gold medal!_ Like trying to be the object of her affections was some kind of tournament, where she was both the obstacle and the prize.

Too bad she had her heart set on someone else. Someone who saw her as more than a prize. She was his mechanic. She was a person. She was a childhood friend. She was someone to argue with, someone to tell all your secrets to, someone who could understand.

At least, that's how Winry _hoped_ Ed saw her. Had seen her. Yes, how Ed had seen her. He was gone now.

Winry had promised that she would try not to cry for Ed the day after she heard the news. When Mustang had written that note for her, or when she'd found it, or whatever. She'd told herself that Ed wouldn't want her to cry, and that she should honor his wishes and keep moving forward.

Still, there were times when she had to let it out.

"I'm sorry, Ed," she whispered, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm just not as good at keeping promises as you are."

* * *

><p>A few days later, Ralph Bander was given his automail. When it was attached, he screamed.<p>

After that, he admired it, comparing it to his friends' and comrades' automail and mentioning how his arm was far superior. It had to be the best automail out there!

Winry smiled sadly, making him blush.

Little did he know that she was really smiling because of the arm and the leg that still lay on her desk. Waiting for someone. Someone special.

Waiting for Ed.

**AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!**

**Personally, I think this little extra is adorable. I know, I'm prejudiced, but still! It's just so CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTE!**

**I sound like Hughes.**

***pauses for a moment to honor the memory of Maes Hughes***

**Okay, now, RFF! Before I kill something!**

**Like that bug over there.**

***WHACK***

**There, all better.**

**(Hehehehe. . . I'm bored.)**

**Love ya! lulu**


End file.
